


Scream

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, Scott isn’t expecting it. The following times he anticipates and avoids it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream

The first time it happens, Scott isn’t expecting it. He’s sleeping on the outside portion of Stiles’ bed, while Stiles lies between him and the wall. Scott has been spending as much time as possible with Stiles since the whole Nogitsune thing. He had practically moved into the Stilinski home. His clothes are mixed in with Stiles’, socks being shared and even shirts now and then; deodorant is sat side by side on the bathroom counter, tooth brushes crossed over each other by the sink; shoes are toed off at the front door, haphazardly mixed up with each other. There are twice the amount of dishes that need to be done, but Stiles or his father never complained (and Scott pulls his weight by doing the laundry or cleaning the bathrooms when needed).

The clock strikes one and Scott shifts under the sheets; something happens. He isn’t quite sure what, but something happens. There’s a shift in the air and Stiles curls his back closer to the wall, his heart rate speeding up, the sound twisting its panicked way into Scott’s dreamland. Scott is almost fully awake when the scream happens.

It rips its way out of Stiles (now flailing at wind, at the wall, staring straight ahead at some unseen terror). Scott startles, nearly falling off the bed, as his best friends screams and screams and screams and _screams_. It’s raw and terrifying and the door flies open just as Scott lunges forward, arms finding their way around Stiles’ thin shoulders (he’s just started to gain back the weight he lost; Scott makes sure he eats at every meal, makes him snacks throughout the day, makes sure he stays hydrated and rested, as rested as possible).

Stiles clings to Scott like he’s a lifeline.

It’s not what the werewolf expects; not if someone is waking from a night terror. He expects to be shoved away, for the screaming to get worse, for Stiles to claw and scratch and kick and _fight_. Because that’s what he’s always done, even when he didn’t want to, even when he was crying and his mom was being lowered into the ground, he still had his shoulders back and his chin up (tears streaming down his face, but standing tall, and when asked why he had said “Dad needs someone to be strong now that Mommy isn’t here” and Scott cried for weeks over those words).

But Stiles grips his shirt and buries his face in Scott’s shoulder, swallowing the rest of the screams, and just shakes against the other’s body. He mewls and whimpers and sobs. The floorboards creak and Scott quickly looks over his shoulder (he thinks his eyes may be glowing red, and he knows there’s a protective growl coming out), sees Mr Stilinski standing halfway between the bed and the door. The growl dissipates and Mr Stilinski just nods, leaves the room; he knows his son is in good hands. He’ll come back in a bit to check up on them. Scott shifts to pull Stiles into his lap and shushes him as the whimpers grow louder.

“Shh, shh, Stiles, you’re ok… You’re ok, it was just a bad dream, just a bad dream, ok?”

He shook his head, pressing it against Scott’s throat. “No,” he moaned out. “No, it’s not, I killed her, Scottie, ohgod… I killed Allison, I was holding the sword, she looked so sad, Scott.”

Scott’s throat closes up; but he forces his emotions away. Stiles is what matters right now. So he runs a hand through Stiles’ hair (it’s still long and curly) and breathes deeply (Stiles’ smell, not something sick or off like the Nogitsune; it’s Stiles, peppermint and guava shampoo).

“That was your dream, Stiles, it’s not real-it’s never been real. You didn’t kill…Allison.” Her name is still hard to say, but Scott is proud when he says it without a waver to his voice. He rocks side to side. “Stiles, it was never _ever_ you.”

Stiles stops shaking, eventually, his whimpers and sobs and mewls falling to the occasional snuffle, and Scott thinks his legs may have fallen asleep at one point because they’re tingling and funny feeling. The clock glares 2:15.

“Stiles…no one blames you…”

There’s a pause where the air is heavy and Scott thinks—hopes—he may have fallen back to sleep. But then he speaks and Scott’s heart breaks.

“I do.”

It’s soft, quiet, timid and tired; Scott feels a growl coming; his alpha isn’t happy with one of his pack blaming themselves for something that…was never, at any point, _their fault_. How is he to respond to such a belief? He doesn’t know, so he does what he can.

“Well then you’re stupid.” Scott pulls his friend close, a press of lips to the warm forehead, and tries to bleed his love into Stiles from where his arms are locked around the thin body.

It must work because Stiles drops off to sleep in a matter of minutes; Scott stays alert for the rest of the night. The next morning, when Scott sets a small bowl of oatmeal before Stiles and Stiles asks for a bigger bowl Scott can’t keep the smile off his face.

The first—and only—time it happens, Scott isn’t expecting it. He anticipates the next time and the next and the next after that. He wraps his arms tight around his best friend as soon as they are in bed, lying side by side, Stiles against the wall because he says—whether verbally or not, Scott just knows—that if he’s surrounded on both sides he’s safe. The werewolf wills the pain and guilt and self-hate away nightly and instead of screams Stiles wakes up warm and safe and _loved_.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on my side blog senpaidono on tumblr


End file.
